


in his image

by peacefrog



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:50:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7957717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will gaped, wide-eyed and speechless. Hannibal Lecter in the flesh, stark naked and dripping wet, was standing right in front of him. Not some robotic replication, not a mannequin or a machine. The life-like quality of the flesh was startling. Wet hair fell into his eyes. His hands flexed at his sides. A soft, thick, uncut cock hung proudly between his legs. The hair on his chest was streaked through with silver-gray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in his image

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is loosely based on an episode of the show _Black Mirror_ entitled _Be Right Back_. For those who are familiar with it, I can assure you that this is not death fic, and the real Hannibal Lecter is very much alive and well. I have borrowed the android creation concept from the episode, but aside from that this story is quite different. Set post-Mizumono, in early season 3.

_Rebirth Synthetics._

The advertisement caught Will’s eye while leafing through a waiting room magazine, mindless and impatient. The doctor was fifteen minutes late and counting. It was his first follow-up appointment since his release from the hospital and the polyester carpet beneath his feet smelled of death. His abdomen scar itched and throbbed under his t-shirt. He rubbed at it absently, balancing the magazine on his knee. 

Will’s eyes didn’t leave the page until his name was called three times by the receptionist, suddenly unaware of his immediate surroundings. He sat on the paper-covered exam table and did his best to focus on the doctor’s words and clinical prods, nodding and answering questions when required. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the blank-eyed stare of the flesh-covered android face to leave his mind.

 _Re-connect with lost loved ones and ease the burden of grief while transitioning into your new life_ , the tagline had read. On his way out the door, Will slipped the rolled up magazine into his jacket pocket and all but sprinted to his car.

He pulled up the company’s website on his phone in the parking lot of the pharmacy, white paper prescription bag tossed carelessly onto the passenger seat beside him. Browsing the site felt achingly familiar to shopping for headstones. He’d paid for Abigail’s cremation and burial expenses while still recovering in the hospital, but there had been no funeral. No one left alive or well enough to attend. She was buried in the plot next to where her mother’s ashes lay. Will had yet to pay her a visit.

He pushed the smell of Abigail’s blood from his mind and clicked on the FAQ at the bottom of the page. There he learned that they could make their synthetic-flesh androids look, move, and speak like almost anyone, not just the dead, though their services were primarily marketed to grieving widows and widowers, or parents who had lost their children.

Loss, Will thought, came wearing many faces. Sometimes it bled out on cold kitchen tile, clutched inside your trembling hands. Other times it flew away, alive and well, across a vast and tremulous ocean.

One of their androids—or rather, synthetic humanoid companions—would drain nearly all of Will’s savings. The company would require a large number of photos to complete the likeness, along with video or audio recordings to perfect the voice. Access to social media accounts was highly encouraged for optimum personality simulation. In lieu of social media—Hannibal had none, as far as Will knew—access to a cell phone containing text messages and personal correspondences could be used.

Following the news that renowned psychiatrist Dr. Hannibal Lecter was the illusive Chesapeake Ripper, all of Baltimore high society came crawling from the shadows, eager to sell off their personal photos and videos to every seedy tabloid that would have them. Freddie Lounds had purchased the bulk, every last bit of it readily available for consumption by her ever-growing online readership.

Following several sleepless nights scrolling Rebirth’s website and watching video clips of Hannibal on Tattle Crime, Will had come to a decision.

Before he could begin, however, he would have to pay Brian Zeller a visit.

—

“You want me to what?” Zeller gaped at Will from across the threshold. 

Will had been standing there shivering against the cold for long enough to know Zeller wasn’t going to let him in. “I just need Hannibal Lecter’s cell phone. That’s all.”

“And what makes you think I’m going to be able to get it?” Zeller searched Will’s face, brows knitted tightly together. “And how do you know where I live?”

Will pulled his hat down over the cold-numb tips of his ears. “Google.” He sighed. “You’re a crime scene investigator, you have access to the FBI’s evidence locker, every reason to go in there. Check something else out and pocket the phone. It will never be traced back to you.”

The cogs of Zeller’s mind clicked behind his narrow eyes. He crossed his arms against his chest. “What’s in it for me?”

Will would have exactly $1250 left in his savings after completing his purchase with Rebirth. “Money is really all I have to offer. A thousand dollars cash once the phone is in my hands.”

“You want me to risk my career for a thousand dollars?”

Will rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. There’s no risk, no way you’ll ever be caught and you know it. The FBI was done with that phone weeks ago. All the information is already uploaded to their database. It won’t be missed.”

Zeller huffed out a sigh. “Fine. But I’m only doing this because I feel sorry for you, I hope you know that. Don’t tell me you don’t need my pity, and I won’t ask why you want the Chesapeake Ripper’s cell phone.”

“Thank you.”

Will drove the whole way back to Wolf Trap with the heat blasting on high, fingers numb, trembling like a leaf beneath his coat.

—

Two days later, Will was a thousand dollars poorer and had Hannibal’s dead cell phone clutched in the palm of his hand, once again shivering on Brian Zeller’s porch. Zeller counted the cash intentionally slow, emphasizing his pity enough as he did that Will actually began to believe it. As he walked away, boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow, it churned up something sour from his belly and tasted bitter on his tongue.

Back home, as the phone charged, Will wondered if he would even be able to get into it at all, but was pleasantly surprised to find that the FBI had left it easily accessible with the passcode removed. The wallpaper was a sketch Hannibal had done himself, of course. The bowed curve of lips Will immediately recognized as his own. He stared at it wide-eyed until the screen went black and let it fall down onto the desk.

Hands shaking too much and head too full of static to search any further, he popped his antibiotics and painkillers and washed them down with a glass of whisky. Will blinked past the sting of tears threatening his eyes and opened up his laptop. 

Placing his order through _Rebirth_ was easy. Too easy, Will thought. With enough money and digital media, anyone could have a synthetic replica of any other person on the planet with a few simple clicks of a mouse. Will filled out the form, uploaded the photos, videos, and plugged the cell phone into his laptop to be scanned for necessary personality components. _Rebirth_ assured him that his privacy was guaranteed, but he hesitated just a moment before clicking to complete his order. How true would that ring if the replica you were ordering just happened to be one of the FBI’s most wanted?

Will mashed his finger down on the touchpad and completed the purchase before managing to talk himself out of it altogether. He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. Goodbye savings. 

He grabbed the bottle of whisky and climbed into bed, tracing the ridge of his abdomen scar with the pads of his fingers. Hannibal’s cell phone was still plugged into the now powered down laptop, a dark beacon beckoning him from the desk. He turned away from it and drank, until the world went silent and faded to black.

—

 _Rebirth Synthetics_ gave Will an estimated arrival date ten days from the time of purchase. Ten days to occupy his half healed body and restless mind until his replacement for the man who left him bloodied and broken was to be dropped outside his door.

It had been a week and a half since his release from the hospital, and he was finally feeling well enough physically to care for someone other than himself. He picked up his dogs from the kennel and fell down into a mess of fur and furious wagging tails on the floor once back home. 

There in the safety of his pack, for the first time since seeing that advertisement in the doctor’s office waiting room, Will allowed himself to question why he had felt the need to drain his savings account to begin with. He was lonely, but that was nothing new. Loneliness fit him like a well-tailored suit, bespoke to the bone with meticulous construction. But Hannibal had taken him a step beyond alone, somewhere deep into the clutches of understanding and acceptance. He knew himself entirely in Hannibal’s presence. He ached for it right down to his toes.

He had grieved for Abigail—was grieving for her—her presence in his days a thick and choking crimson fog. But he grieved for other things as well, less physical yet somehow more alive. The death of a bond so profound he felt entirely hollow, even with everything once again put right inside him.

Day gave into night again, and Will could barely bring himself to leave the warmth and comfort of his dogs. He ate with them on the floor, Winston’s head resting pitifully in his lap. He grabbed his blankets from the bed and curled up with them in front of the space heater, Hannibal’s voice an unintelligible whisper echoing down the halls of his mind.

—

Will dreamed he was back in Hannibal’s kitchen, the floor beneath his feet electric circuits that sent off sparks with every step. Hannibal stood there bloodied and unmoving, half the skin of his face peeled away to reveal the shining metal skull below. In his hand he held a noose made of a thick mass of glowing fiber optic cables. Stiffly he outstretched his automated arm, presenting the noose to Will for the taking.

The noose sizzled and burned in Will’s hand. He slipped the burning fibers around his neck and opened his mouth in a silent scream. Mechanical Hannibal fell to his knees, no life left in the screens of his eyes. The noose tightened around Will’s neck as the room melted away, circuit boards giving way to a gaping maw of endless darkness.

—

Five days before Will’s _Rebirth_ shipment was scheduled to arrive, he pulled his sailing yacht from storage and busied himself removing the rusted out old engine. The _NOLA_ was a previous savings-drain that Will had bought sight unseen just before Hannibal entered his life. It was a thirty-six-foot disaster before Will laid his hands on it. Now, the only thing left to put right was her engine.

Will rebuilt it all from scratch, working that day and the following days until his fingers ached and the sun turned to a whisper of winter’s light in the sky. The night before the delivery was scheduled, he turned on floodlights and worked well into the darkest hours, shivering in the heatless cavern of his shed.

Just before dawn, Will dragged his tired bones inside and perched on the edge of his bed. He dry swallowed pain pills and worried at the aching mass of his still-healing scar. He counted knobs of connective tissue like a garland of roses, breathing out silent prayers to a God he was fairly certain never existed at all.

—

The box hauled into Will’s living room by a pair of delivery men was the same shape and dimensions as a coffin. He was thankful when they asked no questions and didn’t force him to meet their eyes. Will signed for the delivery and when they were gone he sat down next to it on the floor, dodging the flurry of curious tails and sniffing noses.

Will leaned hard against the side of the box and closed his eyes, suddenly regretting his decision to pull an all-nighter. He ran his hand along the smooth cardboard and wondered what he was going to find once he peered inside. According to the instructions given on _Rebirth_ ’s website, he would need to run a bath and put the “blank” companion inside, along with the provided packet of electrolytes. 

Once in the bath, the process would complete itself, and he would be greeted by his new companion in about an hour. Will thought of Cybermen from old reruns of Doctor Who, with their shining metal bodies and tube-flanked heads. He laughed so hard he scared the dogs, and then he began to cry.

He let the tears stream hot down his face until his chest ached and every muscle in his body burned with grief. When finally the tears stopped, he went to the kitchen and made a pot of over-strong coffee. He drank a cup with shaking hands wrapped around the hot mug, staring down at the coffin box on his living room floor.

He finished the coffee and fetched a knife from the kitchen. With surgical precision he sliced open the box, letting every corner flap down against the floor until finally the inner box was revealed. White and shining, it was emblazoned with the _Rebirth_ logo, silently beckoning him to open the lid. 

Kneeling there on the carpet, dogs curled and twisted up at his side, Will slowly pulled the lid off and let it fall over onto the floor, revealing the flesh-colored, plastic-covered contents surrounded by packing peanuts inside. The thing staring back at him looked only vaguely like a man, plastic and featureless, more mannequin than anything he would call humanoid.

Panic set in as he stood and slowly began dragging the box down the hall toward the bathroom. What if it didn’t work? What if the thing inside didn’t end up looking or sounding or seeming like Hannibal at all? What if he ended up with a robotic, mindless replicant and nothing more? 

He turned on the tap to fill the tub and pulled the plastic wrapping back from the synthetic skin of his lifeless companion. The skin was covered in a thin layer of sweet-smelling gel that was slick against his fingers. Once the tub was filled he lifted the boneless, plastic man out of its box—knowing full well it was far heavier than he should be lifting post-surgery—and let it slide down into the water. Its arms floated on the surface like buoys in a storm.

He sliced the plastic pack of electrolytes open with his knife and sprinkled them into the tub. The water began to fizzle and pop. Will got to his feet and choked down the second wave of panic, leaving the light on and the bathroom door wide open as he made his way back to the living room.

—

Will sat on the edge of the bed wringing his hands together, eyes fixed straight down the dark corridor of the hall and on the swath of light spilling from the bathroom. It had been a little over an hour since the process began, and at the first sound of sloshing water his heart started to hammer inside his chest.

The house had been silent for so long, save for the cacophony of snoring dogs and Will’s own labored breathing, that to hear someone else there came as somewhat of a terrifying surprise, even if it were one he had been expecting. There was someone—something— moving around inside the bathroom, lifting itself from the tub. Water splashed over the sides and onto the rug, bare feet thudded down against the tile.

Its wet footsteps approached in shadow, and at the first sight of it emerging into the hall Will squeezed his eyes shut and buried his head in his hands. Closer and closer the footsteps came, until Will knew the thing—the man, the machine, Hannibal—was standing right in front of him. With all his strength he forced himself to uncover his eyes and meet its gaze.

“Hello, Will.”

Will gaped, wide-eyed and speechless. Hannibal Lecter in the flesh, stark naked and dripping wet, was standing right in front of him. Not some robotic replication, not a mannequin or a machine. The life-like quality of the flesh was startling. Wet hair fell into his eyes. His hands flexed at his sides. A soft, thick, uncut cock hung proudly between his legs. The hair on his chest was streaked through with silver-gray.

“I would have covered myself with a towel, but I’m afraid there were none in the bathroom,” Hannibal said, face soft and full of life. Even his eyes were shining.

Still stunned silent, Will got to his feet and approached with calculating steps. It wasn’t Hannibal, he knew, not really, but for the time he allowed himself to believe. Allowed himself to reach out with one unsteady hand and touch the lightly stubbled cheek, brush the dripping hair out of its eyes. The skin was warm to the touch, and there were bones underneath.

The dogs barked and whined and growled low in their throats at the stranger. After a while, sensing no immediate threat, they settled back down on their beds, but kept their curious eyes on Will and Hannibal. Winston’s ears stayed perked and Buster looked ready to pounce.

“Would it be too much trouble to ask for something to wear? I’m happy to get it myself, if you’ll point me in the right direction.”

Will opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a dry gasp drowned out by the sound of his drumming heart.

“You’re worried I’m going to hurt you. Can’t say I blame you considering where we left off.” It was Hannibal’s turn to touch Will’s face, thumbing at his ear. A gesture so achingly familiar Will had to choke back a sob. Will wondered, though, if he were merely acting as a mirror. “I assure you, you have nothing to be afraid of. I have no urges or desires of my own, and will only do as I’m told or asked.”

Will’s legs carried him to the dresser to dig out a pair of boxers, pajama bottoms, and a t-shirt, but his mind remained elsewhere, racing. Robo-Hannibal’s accent was near perfect, though cobbled together from audio old and new, and somewhat thicker than Will had ever known it. His hair and face were more youthful, though he was still greying. Physically he was near-identical, save for a scar or two. Will wondered exactly how much this version of Hannibal knew. How much their bond bled through online and in the emails and text messages pulled from his phone.

Will wordlessly shoved the clothes into Hannibal’s arms and watched him dress. He had never before seen Hannibal naked and couldn’t help but fixate on the size of him, swinging soft between his legs as he pulled the boxers on, and wonder if that part had come fully functional as well. Was there something like blood pumping through those fiber-optic veins? 

Hannibal finished dressing and Will forced his gaze back to his eyes, blushing and breathless and still utterly incapable of speech.

“It’s alright to stare. I take it you’ve never seen me quite like this before? Though the information I have been provided makes it unclear where we’ve drawn the line in the past. Enemies or friends? Friends or something more?”

Even if he had been capable of speaking, Will would still be at a loss for an answer. In the end, the line between them became so blurred he couldn’t be certain it had ever existed at all.

Hannibal, thankfully, decided no answer was good enough for the time. “Have you eaten? I’d be happy to make you something.”

Will sat back down on the edge of the bed and swallowed hard. “Do, uh… do you eat?”

Hannibal joined him on the bed. “I have no need to, though I can if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

“Okay,” Will croaked, willfully steadying his breathing. “Okay, make me something to eat.”

—

Hannibal—who Will was very much allowing himself to see as Hannibal—made Will eggs and sausage and toast. It was delicious, by all accounts, but tasted far too much like the last page of a cookbook sat too long on the shelf. A recipe followed methodically and mechanically without an ounce of anything extra in the mix. No love, no passion for creation.

Hannibal pretended to eat for Will’s sake but his face showed no signs of joy, mechanical or otherwise.

When they were through with the dishes, Will reached for a fresh bottle of whisky. It was just after 1pm.

—

They sat in chairs by the window and Will got terribly drunk. They observed each other in stolen glances and Hannibal asked more questions Will didn’t have answers to. Hannibal didn’t seem bothered by Will being unresponsive, shuffling on to the next topic of conversation after long stretches of silence.

“You should rest,” Hannibal suggested, reaching for the half-empty bottle clutched in Will’s hand. “You look exhausted.”

Will let him take the whisky, let Hannibal lead him to the bed. Will passed out facedown in his pillow and dreamed of windup toys heaving and whispering in the dark. When he awoke again, the sun was nowhere to be found and Hannibal sat watching him, perched like crow on the edge of the bed.

Will groaned and pulled himself up to lean back against the wall. “What do you know about me?”

Hannibal clicked on a lamp and moved close. “Your name is Will Graham. You are a former colleague and patient. A friend, maybe more. We had dinner together often. I framed you for multiple murders. I tried to kill you, left you for dead.”

“No, that’s… that’s just labels and actions. Do you know how you… feel about me?”

“In spite of my actions, I care for you deeply. I wonder how deeply you care for me.” Hannibal paused for a moment. Will panicked briefly he had malfunctioned. “The me who sits before you now would think quite a bit, considering the circumstance. Or am I here for more sinister reasons?”

Will’s head throbbed. He was still half drunk. “You’re here because I missed you. I suppose there’s no harm in telling the truth, considering the circumstance.”

“Are your wounds healing well? How badly are you scarred? I can take a look if you’d like.” The look in Hannibal’s eyes should have been one of unbridled hunger, close enough to Will to taste the hot puffs spilling from his mouth, but it fell flat and settled on curious, moderate concern. It made Will’s stomach clench with longing.

“It’s fine, thank you.” Will stared down at Hannibal’s exposed forearm, smooth and fresh and unscarred. “You’re missing a few yourself.”

“I apologize,” Hannibal said, staring down at his own flesh, “sometimes things slip through. I won’t be a moment.”

Hannibal’s posture went straight as a rod, eyes staring ahead at nothing in particular. The dark amber of his eyes began to glow like molten silver. After a minute or so, he relaxed, eyes shifting back to their human state and falling on Will. 

Hannibal lifted his arms, palms facing outward. “Better?”

The once unmarred flesh was now reddened with freshly healed-over scars, a striking likeness to those left on the real Hannibal via Matthew Brown. Will ran his finger down one raised pink line, searching Hannibal’s face for a reaction.

“Can you feel that?”

Hannibal smirked. “I can. My skin is equipped with pressure receptors, my brain capable of sending and receiving electrical impulses, the same as yours.”

Will recoiled as if burned, pulling his hand back into his lap. “Not the same, though, is it? You said yourself you have no desires, no urges, no biological requirement to eat.”

“All those little things that make us human. That make you human. You saw yourself earlier that I can eat like anyone else, though I have no requirement or desire to do so.” Hannibal searched Will’s face with eyes that truly seemed to understand. “I can pretend to have other desires as well, if you’d like. It will cause me no mental or physical harm. All you have to do is say the word.”

Will swallowed dryly, pulse thudding, frantic. “I need water.”

Hannibal fetched Will a glass from the kitchen without question, returning to his position on the bed as Will sipped.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I meant what I said.”

Will chugged half the glass and set it down on the table next to the bed. “Are you equipped to, uh, satisfy... all desires?”

“Sexually, you mean? Have you and I engaged in sex previously? Again, the information I have is quite unclear in that regard.”

Will blushed red and hot, right up to the tips of his ears. “No, we, uh… he and I, you and I… no.”

“Would you like to?”

Will turned his burning face away and stared straight down the long dark hall. His pulse shook every inch of his flesh. He reached for the water and downed the rest of the glass.

“I’m quite capable of achieving and maintaining an erection for as long as you desire. There’s no need to be embarrassed. Or would you prefer to penetrate me? Or engage in another act entirely?”

“No! No…” Will pulled away from Hannibal’s looming presence and swung his legs down over the opposite side of the bed, white knuckling the edge of the mattress. “Fuck… I can’t do this. He would never… He wouldn’t… You’re not him.”

“I am as close to Hannibal Lecter as the limitations of present science will allow.”

Will stood and the room spun. He kept his back turned to Hannibal. “I need to be alone. I’m going to the kitchen. Please don’t follow me.”

Will gulped down several handfuls of water from the tap and then slumped down at the kitchen table. The thing sitting on his bed in the living room overwhelmingly looked and moved and sounded like Hannibal Lecter. To the oblivious eye, he would appear human in every way. If Jack Crawford walked through the door right then he would arrest it without question and Will’s synthetic humanoid companion would be put on trial and convicted for the crimes of the Chesapeake Ripper.

Had he not known, had someone purchased it for him and sent it to his door without his knowledge or consent, he may have even been convinced himself for a day or so. After a while the absence of scars and desires and depth of emotion, the slightly too thick accent, the lack of subtle poetry in his speech would have given him away. But for a day, an hour, a minute, Will would have believed.

Will pushed himself back from the table and stumbled into the living room. Definitely still drunk. “You don’t smell like him,” he said, voice pulled taut and trembling.

Hannibal was still sitting in the exact position Will had left him, hands clasped elegantly in his lap. He looked good in Will’s white t-shirt. “There are certain aspects of humanity even the most sophisticated science cannot replicate, I’m afraid,” he explained. “I can put on cologne, if you think it will help.”

A bitter laugh escaped Will’s chest. No amount of cologne could cover up the cloying stench of imitation. “I’m gonna take the dogs out. You can join me if you want.”

They took the pack out into the night and Will threw sticks for them into the snowy dark. Will was bundled in a jacket and hat and gloves. Hannibal was barefoot and unfazed in his t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

Will shivered as he unzipped his coat and lifted his shirt. “I want you to look at it,” he said, gesturing to his angry red abdominal scar. “Look at it and tell me why you did it.”

In the light of the porch Hannibal gave Will’s scar the most clinical of examinations, palpating the area with the pads of his fingers just as the surgeon had at his follow-up appointment. “It was an act of self preservation. You were going to arrest me.”

“Not exactly the answer I was looking for.”

“Would you care to tell me, then? I’m limited to the information that has been provided to me. Much about our personal life together was never documented.”

Will zipped his jacket and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “We texted a lot near the end, you have our words, and you said you know that you care deeply for me.”

“I have some of our words, private dinner invitations and late night requests for phone calls. In all our pictures together I look happy. Freddie Lounds suspects we’re more than friends. Is she correct?”

Will searched Hannibal’s curious eyes. “I don’t know what we are. Calling us friends seems reductive.” He looked away and watched the dogs chase each other in circles through the snow. “Do you know why you killed Abigail Hobbs?”

“I’m a killer. I’ve killed many others before.”

Will sighed. In the corner of his eye Abigail’s bloodied shadow loomed before slinking back into the cold. He whistled for the dogs to return. “Let’s go inside.”

Will fed the dogs and then climbed back into bed. “I’m going to sleep some more. Do you sleep?”

“I can lie with you and close my eyes for as long as you’d like.”

Will pulled the covers up to his chin and turned away from Hannibal. “Fine. Do it then.”

The mattress dipped. Hannibal slipped beneath the covers. It was only then that Will noticed he wasn’t breathing.

“Can you pretend to breath as well?”

There was a soft inhale on the other side of the bed. “Of course.”

Hannibal breathed slow, steady, methodical. Automated. Robotic. Will didn’t sleep again for hours, unmoving as the machine at his back. When dreams finally came, they were dark and swarming and shapeless, artificial as synthetic skin stretched over a metal frame.

—

Will awoke with the sun blaring in his eyes and rage simmering inside his chest. He sat up and gazed down at Hannibal pretending to sleep. “You can stop that now,” he said, pulling himself out of bed and padding to the kitchen for coffee.

He drank it scalding hot and black, let it burn bitter in the back of his throat. Hannibal stood at the counter watching. 

“Breakfast?” Hannibal asked, opening the fridge to fetch the eggs.

“Don’t bother. Not hungry.”

Hannibal let the fridge door fall shut. “Is there something on your mind?”

“He wouldn’t have to ask me. He’d just know.”

Hannibal joined him at the table. “My apologies, though I do believe you’re upset.”

“I thought it would help,” Will choked out, clutching at the tender scar beneath his shirt. “I don’t know what’s going to help.”

Hannibal reached over and placed his hand over Will’s on the table. “I’m sorry, Will. Perhaps it would help if you told me more about our time together.”

Will snatched his hand away and skidded his chair back from the table. “No, you’re… you’re supposed to know!” Will’s words came out like hot spurts of venom. “You’re supposed to know me!” Will let the tears welling in his eyes fall freely down his face. “He knows me.”

“Will, please. Tell me what you need me to do.”

Will pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes until stars burst into sparks. He dried his tears with the bottom of his shirt and balled his hands into tight fists. “I want you to fuck me.”

“You said we had never.”

“We haven’t.” Will was soft and unaroused, so angry that he couldn’t think, could barely hear the words coming out of his own mouth. “But what does it matter?” His words came out edged in tears and tasting of bile. His voice some pitiful, broken thing. “You have to do whatever I tell you.”

Hannibal stood, expression blank. “Very well. You would like it in the bed, I assume?”

Hannibal trailed behind Will back into the living room and watched as Will pulled lubrication from the dresser. “You get your knowledge of sex from pornography I assume,” Will said, pulling his t-shirt up over his head.

“I do. Is there something specific you had in mind?”

Will shoved his pants and boxers down and kicked them across the room. He sat on the edge of the bed and unashamedly spread his thighs and slicked his fingers. Roughly he began to finger himself open, reveling in the burn.

“I want it hard. I want you to fuck me like you hate me. Don’t stop until I say.”

“You’re not aroused,” Hannibal said, eyes on Will’s soft cock flopped against his thigh. 

“It doesn’t matter. Just do it.”

Will flipped over and pressed his face into the mattress, pushing his ass high into the air. He could hear Hannibal undress and then the mattress dipped behind him. Hannibal slicked himself with lube and pressed the hard head of his cock to Will’s entrance.

Will hadn’t prepared himself nearly enough, hadn’t been penetrated by anything save for the cold metallic edge of a blade in a very long time. But it was so slick, and Hannibal’s hips worked like a well oiled piston, pressing in until he was seated to the balls in Will’s ass. Will put the edge of the pillow in his mouth and bit down hard against the sting.

Hannibal gripped the nape of Will’s neck and mounted him like an animal, began to snap his hips in a steady, hard, relentless rhythm, driving in to the hilt with every thrust. He cleaved Will’s body in two with the thick glide of his cock. Will wondered absently if the real Hannibal were so big, or if _Rebirth_ simply took it upon themselves to equip all male bodied companions so generously.

“Harder,” Will grunted, choked, digging his fingers into the sheets so hard his nails bit right through the fabric. “God dammit, Hannibal, fuck me harder.”

Hannibal’s grip on Will’s nape tightened painfully. He began to fuck at a near inhuman speed, the obscene slap of his balls against Will’s entrance filling the room. His cock felt real, human, pulsed with life and throbbed out beads of pre-come, but the way he fucked was nothing short of robotic.

Hannibal hit Will’s prostate with every penetrating thrust, and Will began to grow hard at last, leaking down onto the sheets between his knees. He pushed away all thoughts of Hannibal, focused instead on the mechanical in and out of the cock splitting him in half, the rough fingers bruising his neck.

The thing inside him fucked, and fucked, and fucked relentless. It didn’t make a sound save for the wet slapping of skin. Its cock throbbed and thickened even further. At one point it slicked the join of their bodies with more lubrication but never ceased its rhythm. Will began to sob and fuck himself back onto the hard length of his fucking machine.

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Hannibal could fuck him to death right there and still he wouldn’t have had his fill. He reached down and fisted his cock between his legs, coming with a strangled cry as Hannibal fucked every last ounce of release from him.

Will reached back blind and pushed against Hannibal’s hip. “Stop… stop.”

Hannibal’s thrusts ceased immediately and he pulled his still hard cock from Will’s body. Will collapsed into his own mess and kept his back to Hannibal.

Hannibal sat next to Will on the bed, soothed a hand down his back. “I hope I haven’t hurt you.”

Will shoved the hand away. “I’m fine. Just… go into the kitchen and wait for me.”

Hannibal pulled his clothes on and went without question, leaving Will there to shiver alone in his mess of come and sweat and tears. 

—

In the afternoon Will managed to pull himself from bed, and after a long, hot shower he ventured out into the shed. His engine was near completion, perhaps a day’s work or two before she’d be ready to sail.

As he began to tinker, footsteps crunched in the snow behind him. 

“Thought I told you to wait for me in the kitchen.”

Hannibal stopped just inside the door. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Will set his wrench down on the workbench hard. “I’m fine.”

“Can I bring you something to eat?”

At the thought of food, Will’s stomach began to rumble. “Just go back to the kitchen and get started. I’ll be in soon.”

Will stood in the silence of his freezing shed, bare hands grasping at the cold metal of the engine. Somewhere far across the ocean, Will knew, the real Hannibal Lecter was preparing someone else’s dinner.

—

They ate cold turkey sandwiches at the kitchen counter. Will wondered if Hannibal’s mechanical tongue could taste it at all.

“You’re a cannibal,” Will said flatly, popping the last bite into his mouth.

“In this form, only in theory, though I could kill and consume someone if you’d like me to.”

Will dropped his plate into the sink. “Do you know what you said to me the night we ate the Ortolans? Just after you thought I’d killed Freddie Lounds?”

Hannibal dropped his plate in on top of Will’s “I’m afraid I do not.”

Will thought of blood and breath. Hannibal’s chest was still and unmoving beside him.

“No,” Will turned his back, watched bare tree branches swaying just outside the window, “I didn’t think so.”

—

 _Rebirth Synthetics_ had a thirty day return policy. Money back, guaranteed. Will left Hannibal standing stiffly in the kitchen and dialed the number he found listed on their website. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” he told the representative on the other end, after several long minutes of listening to all the reasons why he should give his companion another chance. “Just do it.”

Deactivation would happen almost instantly. As Will ended the call, a hollow thudding sound came pouring from the kitchen. When he entered, the boneless, featureless mass of synthetic skin lay crumpled near the counter, still clad in Will’s pajamas.

He stripped off the clothes and loaded the remains of his replacement Hannibal back into its box. He shoved it out onto the porch to be picked up first thing in the morning.

—

In the week following Will’s farewell to Robo-Hannibal, the yacht’s engine was completed, his savings account replenished. The old ones would get him there just fine, he knew, but he took some of the money he’d been refunded and used it to buy a new mast and sails for the _NOLA_.

He towed the boat out to the dock early one evening and got her in the water with little trouble. He'd stopped taking the pain pills days previous, and while his scar still ached, his head was finally clear. He texted Alana from the dock and asked her to to watch the dogs for a while. She didn't ask how long. Will was alone on the water before the sun went down, strong tailwind filling his sails and carrying him out into the endless Atlantic.

Near the bow, Abigail’s bleeding form materialized and looked out at the journey set before them, back turned and hair fluttering in the salted air. “Do you think we’re going to find him?”

“We’ll find him,” Will said, though his lips hadn't moved at all.

His heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. The _NOLA_ cut through the murky water with speed and precision.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com)!


End file.
